


Requited

by startraveller776



Series: Wrong Place, Wrong Time [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, First Time, Future Fic, Romance, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startraveller776/pseuds/startraveller776
Summary: Hoshi has had a little crush on Jonathan Archer since the day they met, but she's always known that it wasn't reciprocated. Jon, however, just might show her that her infatuation might not be so one-sided, after all.
Relationships: Jonathan Archer/Hoshi Sato
Series: Wrong Place, Wrong Time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654666
Kudos: 11





	Requited

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This is a repost of an old fic. This was originally archived on other sites under the username Misplaced. I have done some rewriting to bring it up to my current skill level as a writer.
> 
>  **Original A/N:** Only important thing you need to know before starting this story is that I consider "These are the Voyages" to be a poorly written Star Trek: The Next Generation episode. It's a faulty holodeck program and, therefore, has no effect on any actual events that occur during Star Trek: Enterprise's time. (I mean, after 10 years Hoshi is still an ensign? Yeah. I don't think so.)
> 
> Many thanks to my incredible beta, Honeybee!
> 
> This was my answer to The Delphic Expanse's Valentine's Day Challenge. (www dot thedelphicexpanse dot com) Song prompt: "Crush" by Jennifer Page.

**REQUITED**

The first time Hoshi saw him was during her guest lecture on the impact of language on culture. He came in late and stood in the back with his arms crossed over his chest. Someone from Starfleet, by his uniform, but no one she had known during her days at the academy. He stared at her as though they were the only two people in the small auditorium.

Abruptly, she became aware that she had stopped speaking mid-sentence. Hoshi tore her attention away from the stranger and back to her notes. She made some kind of joke—she must have; the audience laughed—though she couldn't remember what it was. She continued with her lecture, avoiding the eyes of the mysterious Starfleet officer. It wasn't until Q&A that she searched for him again. Disappointment dropped like a bead of lead in her stomach when she couldn't find him, though she couldn't explain why. She shook herself, pasted on a smile, and took a question from someone in the front.

"Who was that sexy Starfleet officer?" her assistant asked after the hall had cleared.

Hoshi suppressed a sigh. Susan never passed up the opportunity to comment on good-looking men. "Who?" Hoshi asked, feigning innocence. She didn't want to share how unsettled she'd been under his unwavering attention, how it had made her feel as though she'd had a dozen lattes this morning instead of one.

"You didn't see him?" Susan's eyes grew wide. "The way he stared at you... If a man looked at me like that, I don't know if I could speak, let alone give a presentation for another thirty minutes."

Chills prickled across Hoshi's arms, but she resisted the urge to rub at them. He hadn't been looking at her like that. Of course not. Sure, his gaze had been intense— _really_ intense—but she was pretty sure it wasn't _that_ kind of interest. She dismissed the idea with a shake of her head and slung her satchel over her shoulder. "Come on," she said. "Let's get this stuff back to the hotel and find a good place to eat."

"Yes, ma'am." Susan gave her a jaunty salute and picked up the rest of the gear. "What do you feel like tonight? Indian?" she asked as they made their way out of the lecture hall.

Hoshi scrunched her nose. "I don't know if I'm in the mood for anything that spicy." She closed the doors after they passed through. "Let's do Italian."

"Professor Sato."

Susan grabbed Hoshi's arm and hissed, "It's him! He's even hotter close-up!"

Hoshi's heart stuttered, and embarrassment tinged her cheeks with warmth. She didn't even know the man or what he wanted, for crying out loud. Sucking in a deep breath, she turned around, gaze landing on the deep blue of his uniform. He was so tall, she had to tip her chin up to look him in face. He had dark, neatly-trimmed hair and chiseled features with a few lines cracking the corner of his eyes—not overly deep, but enough for her to guess that he was her senior by fifteen years or more. She had to admit that Susan was right, though. Mr. Starfleet was a looker. His green eyes were his most stunning feature, sharp, intelligent, and fixed on her as though he could see right into her soul. She tried not to shiver.

"That's me," she said, glad that her voice didn't reveal how much he intimidated her. "This is my assistant, Susan Brandt."

He gave a brief nod to Susan before offering Hoshi a hand to shake. "Jonathan Archer."

She took it, her hand practically swallowed by his. Jonathan Archer. Where had she heard that name before? She glanced at his rank pips. _Captain_ Jonathan Archer... Oh, right. He'd recently been given command of Earth's first deep space vessel—once construction was finished. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you had some time to talk." He glanced briefly at Susan, and Hoshi got the sense that he wanted to have that conversation alone. "Over dinner, maybe? I'll buy." He flashed a smile, and it practically sparkled. The PR people at Starfleet probably adored him.

She grunted when Susan elbowed her in the ribs. Yes, right. She wasn't the kind of girl to get moony-eyed over some guy in uniform. No matter how handsome he was. "I hope you know a good Italian restaurant, Captain," she said, "because I won't have anything else."

His grin stretched wider, and was that thing registered as a weapon? It ought to be. "I know just the place. And please, call me Jon."

Susan pulled the satchel off of Hoshi's arm. "I'll just take our things back to the hotel," her assistant said before making a hasty exit.

Hoshi scowled at the retreating back of the other woman. Traitor. She wasn't confident about being alone with Captain Jonathan "Call Me Jon" Archer. He had that look about him, the kind that said he was used to getting what he wanted, and it was obvious he wanted something from her.

"Shall we?" He gestured toward the doors.

She curved her mouth up, straightening her shoulders in a vain attempt to quell the butterflies in her middle. "Let's go."

During the cab ride, he was silent. Hoshi couldn't decide if she was relieved or bothered that he didn't try to make conversation. She wished he would just come out with it already. What did the captain of the first warp starship want with a communications officer who was on leave from Starfleet? She didn't have to guess, but the notion made her restless, like her skin was too dry and tight. There was a reason she was on sabbatical; the debacle during her EVA training at the academy made the decision for her.

She didn't doubt that his interest in her was purely professional. And if it wasn't? Would she want that? Yes. No. Definitely _no_. She blamed Susan for putting ridiculous thoughts in her head that she had no business thinking.

The restaurant was a little hole-in-the-wall place downtown. If Hoshi had blinked, she would have missed it. The hostess seated them a booth in the corner with a candle at the center, flickering with a holographic flame. A pair of musicians weaved thought the tables, pausing here and there to play a selection. She liked the dim atmosphere, the intimacy of the place. The man knew how to woo a girl. Well, not woo in the _romantic_ sense. 

Once they placed their orders, Jon picked up a roll and split it in half. "I'm sure you've heard about the Enterprise."

And here it was. She nodded. "I don't think there's anyone who hasn't."

"The construction is almost finished, and it's time for me to put my crew together." He grinned.

She wished he wouldn't keep flashing those pearly whites. He was charming and probably knew it, too. She was annoyed that she wasn't entirely immune to him. "And you want me to recommend someone as a communications officer?" It was a wild hope, but she was clinging to it.

He shook his head. "I want the best under my command." He gave her that piercing stare once more. "And _you_ are the best."

She wasn't surprised, but her stomach still dropped at his statement. Sure, she was a member of Starfleet, but she'd joined to learn alien languages. The stars had never been her ambition. She'd spent her first shuttlepod ride trying not to succumb to a massive panic attack. It took only a bit of dust hitting the hull at the right speed and angle, and the vacuum of space would tear the air from her lungs and mummify her in ice. She hadn't been able to breathe during the thirty minute ride, and only pride had kept her from kissing the tarmac when the ship landed. The EVA exercise had been even more terrifying. Vomiting in her suit had effectively squash any lingering desire to leave the safety of Earth. She wasn't made for the stars, no matter what her name meant.

"I'm about to start classes." She didn't attempt to hide the quaver in the voice. "There isn't enough time for the school board to find a replacement."

Jon spread his hands. "No problem. Enterprise isn't scheduled to launch for at least six more months. The Spring term should be over by then." He popped a piece of bread in his mouth as if her acceptance was a forgone conclusion.

"Captain—"

"Jon."

"—I recognize this is an opportunity that any comm officer in Starfleet would kill for, but I'm happy where I'm at." She gave him an apologetic smile. "I can recommend some great candidates who would jump at the chance to ship out with you."

He didn't respond right away, but finished his roll as he seemed to mull over her rejection—no doubt looking for another angle to convince her to sign up for the adventure he was offering. She wasn't going to budge, though. Not even if he used all of his masculine wiles on her. She was finished with space, and that was that. He could take that magnetism and dazzle someone else.

Their server set their food on the table, but Jon didn't pick up his fork. He leaned forward instead. "Professor—"

"Hoshi."

The corner of his mouth tugged upward. "Hoshi, would you say that miscommunication is a major cause for conflict?"

She eyed him. Where was he going with this? "Of course."

"Humans are about to go out there"—he waved a hand upward—"and we're going to come across other species, species whose language we don't know. We'll need to figure out what they're saying pretty quickly and let them know that our intention is peaceful exploration. Otherwise, we could accidentally start an interstellar war." Passion oozed in his voice. "Hoshi, no one comes close to you in linguistics. You know that. And you have Starfleet training. I don't plan on Enterprise launching without you on the bridge."

He wasn't wrong about her skill. She'd been a prodigy and had far surpassed her colleagues in the field long ago, even those two or three or three times her age. And to be the first to hear a language that hadn't yet touched human ears? Tempting, but not enough to overcome her severe aversion to traveling through the cold, dark void.

"The mission is for five years." He gave her that captivating smile. "After that, you could go back to teaching for the rest of your life." The twist of his brows made it plain that he couldn't believe that anyone would want to go back something so dull after that kind of excitement. "Imagine how much more experience you'll be able to offer your students. Hell, you could head the xenolinguistics department at the academy."

Oh, damn him! He was playing her like a fine-tuned piano. Still, five years was a long time…

"I'll tell you what," he said before she could open her mouth, "give me a year. If it's not the right fit for you, then I'll release you from the position, and you can go back to Brazil."

"Captain—Jon—I…" She warred with herself. This was space they were talking about. Open space. The last place in the universe she wanted to be. And yet, he wasn't asking her to commit for the rest of her life. Just a year. The Enterprise had to have thicker bulkheads than a shuttlepod, right? "I won't go before the end of the term—not even a day before," she answered. "I owe my students that much."

His expression turned so brilliant that she almost looked away. This guy didn't have any problem with the ladies. That grin probably worked just as well with men, too.

"It's a deal." He held up his glass of water. "To the launch of Enterprise with Starfleet's best and brightest."

Hoshi lifted her glass and tried to tell herself that she hadn't just made a big mistake.

* * *

_**More than five years later…** _

The bar was loud and dark, not the type of place that Hoshi would normally frequent, but Trip had insisted that all the senior officers share a drink together at the 602 club. Enterprise was docked at Jupiter Station, receiving much needed upgrades, and in the meantime, the crew was given a three month furlough. Hoshi needed the time to decide if she was going to be on the bridge for the next mission. She had received several prestigious offers from various universities, and even one from Starfleet Academy.

"I heard that, with the latest transporter design, they'll be able to filter out biologicals like viruses or bacteria. That'll be the end of decon chamber," Malcolm said, interrupting her thoughts. "It would be nice if we could fine tune it enough to beam a potential hostile without his weapon."

"Yeah, it's always about weapons with you, isn't it, Mal?" Trip smirked around his beer.

"Knowing you, Commander, you'd like a transporter that could beam someone without their clothing." Malcolm grinned. "You certainly were 'out of uniform' often enough in the last five years."

Trip's face turned pink, and Hoshi swallowed back a laugh. "Hey, now! It's not like I did it on purpose. 'Sides, I remember saving your asses more than once in my skivvies."

"Indeed," T'Pol interjected coolly. "I can only ascertain that you are more comfortable with less clothing, considering how often you were found in your 'bare minimums.'"

Trip raised an eyebrow at her, and his expression spoke volumes. After five years working with the engineer, Hoshi was almost certain that look meant "you would know." T'Pol wasn't as easy to read, her cues far more subdued, but that sudden interest in her tea? It was an answering "indeed."

Hoshi laughed at the exchange. This was a good moment, when they weren't trying to fend off an attack from some new, hostile alien; when they weren't trying to discover a cure for some mysterious illness or frantically fixing a system malfunction—and when they weren't burying a little baby girl. She was glad to see Trip and T'Pol so relaxed. For several months after baby Elizabeth's passing, it had seemed like neither of them would recover.

She looked around the table, warmth pooling in her chest. Trip shared another joke that she didn't quite catch, and Travis and Malcolm laugh. Phlox and T'Pol were engaged in quiet conversation. This was her family. They'd been through hell together—more than once—and she couldn't imagine life without any of them. Yet, she still dreamed of a husband and children one day. Deep space missions weren't exactly conducive to that kind of commitment. She sat back, observing her dear friends. Maybe one more tour.

She smiled at the thought. Funny how space wasn't quite so daunting anymore.

Her eyes found the Jon, the patriarch of this close-knit bunch. No, he wasn't quite a patriarch. That made him sound old, and while he had a few years on most of them, he was more like an older sibling—a "tough love" kind of big brother. She'd seen him at his best and his worst, and she couldn't imagine an Enterprise without him sitting in the command chair. She remembered their first meeting, how he driven he was, anxious to touch the stars. He was different now—still the hopeful explorer, but more settled, anchored in some undefinable way.

As if he felt her gaze, Jon turned, grinned at her, and her cheeks flushed. Damn. Even after all this time, that little crush hadn't faded as she hoped it would. He was as handsome as ever, charismatic and just plain likable—even when he was moody. What she felt for Jon wasn't obsessive infatuation, but a dormant attraction that would only leap to life if he ever looked at her as more than a colleague or a little sister who needed protection. He never had. He never would.

"While I have enjoyed our little gathering," Phlox said, drawing Hoshi's attention to him, "it's nearing feeding time for my menagerie. If you will all excuse me."

Trip raised his glass. "One more toast before you go." He looked at Jon. "Cap'n?"

Jon straightened. "Of course." He waited for everyone to hold up their drinks. "To the finest crew in Starfleet. The last five years have been a helluva ride." He glanced at Hoshi. "Here's to five more."

Her skin pebbled with goosebumps as glasses clinked. His eyes never left hers as he took a sip of his bourbon.

After Phlox left, T'Pol stood. "I believe I will return to the consulate."

Trip shot up so fast his chair nearly tipped over. "Wanna share a cab, Commander?"

Hoshi held back a laugh as the pair said their goodbyes. The two tried to hide their relationship, but it was painfully obvious. None of the rest of the senior staff commented on it, though. Before Elizabeth, Hoshi might have been tempted to tease them. Now, making jokes would be in poor taste.

"I suppose that's that, then." Malcolm sighed. "Unless the three of you are staying."

"Sure," Travis replied. "I've got nowhere to be."

Hoshi thought about having another drink, but decided against it. It was getting late, and even though she had no plans in the morning, she had never been a night owl. "I'm afraid this is it for me, boys. It's been fun."

She gave Travis and Malcolm a hug, smiling when the security officer stiffened at the public display. When she turned to Jon, though, she hesitated. It was silly. She'd hugged him before, but tonight, with the combination of alcohol, the late hour, and the nostalgia of celebrating the end of Enterprise's first mission, embracing him felt too charged. He didn't raise his arms in expectation, and she tried not to read too much into that.

He did follow her out, though. "Let me walk you back to the hotel."

She kind of hated how her cheeks warmed at the offer, how her heart skipped. "You don't have to. It's not that far."

He gave her a shrug. "I'm leaving anyway."

She opened her mouth to protest again, but then, why not? She always liked his company. They were friends, weren't they? It might be nice to have one last chat. "Sure."

The only problem was he didn't utter a single word as they headed toward her hotel. She cast furtive glances at him in a futile attempt to get a bead on him. Maybe he was tired. Yes, that was probably it. This was companionable silence, a testament to the depth of their friendship. She pulled the collar of her coat up in answer to the cold, misty breeze in the starless night. She'd forgotten what this felt like, the natural movement of the air, the ambient noises, the multitude of warring scents—a hint of brine from the ocean, loamy new life from burgeoning Spring, the varied odors of humans living and working in close proximity without the benefit of a starship's sanitizing filters. She breathed it in. Anything to distract her from the strangeness between her and her walking companion.

Once they reached the hotel, she'd offer her thanks and escape this weirdness. It was clear he had something on his mind, and his reticence said he wasn't interested in sharing. That was fine. It likely had nothing to do with—

Rain fell from the sky, first in fat droplets, but quickly building into a torrential downpour. She let out a little squeak of surprise and dashed the last block toward safety, hands raised overhead. Jon kept pace with her, laughing with each step. They rushed into the lobby, dripping all over the marble floor.

She was relieved that the tension had broken between them as she took in his drenched appearance. "Come on," she said, "I've got some towels in my room."

Jon stepped onto the lift with her, plucking at his sodden shirt. "We can travel faster than light, but we still haven't found a way to predict the weather with any kind of accuracy."

"Priorities, Captain. It's all about priorities." It felt good to joke with him. "Besides, I thought you liked spontaneity."

He raised his brows, but the lift chimed and the door slid open, interrupting whatever comment he was going to make. Hoshi's room was only two doors down and within seconds they were inside. She grabbed all the towels from the bathroom and tossed one to him.

"What makes you say that I like spontaneity?" he asked.

She glanced at him and bit back a grin. After toweling his hair, it stuck up at odd angles. A disheveled Jonathan Archer was a rare sight, and she found it endearing. Her gaze dropped, and she wished she'd kept her eyes on his face. His wet clothing clung to him, outlining defined muscles—muscles she'd always been aware of thanks to the decon chamber. Rubbing gel on his bare back had been a necessity of the job, and she'd been able to stave off any errant, unprofessional thoughts each time. But this wasn't the decon chamber.

"Oh, I don't know," she answered, pushing away her sudden awareness of him, "maybe because your life is about exploring the far reaches of space. There's nothing predictable about what you find out there."

He tipped his head to the side as he thought about it. "True."

His attempt to dab the moisture from his trousers was futile. He really should get out of his clothes altogether and send them down to the hotel laundry, but she was not going to offer—not when her persistent crush fluttered in her belly. She needed him out of her room so she could sleep this off.

"Have you decided yet?" 

She blinked. "Decided what?" Had she been staring at him this whole time?

"If you're going to sign on with us for the next tour." The corners of his mouth quirked up in a hopeful expression, and her first instinct was to say yes. Absolutely. 

She took a deep, steadying breath. "I've had some offers—even one to chair the linguistics department at the academy."

His smile dropped a tick, no longer reaching his eyes. "Just like I said when I recruited you." He stepped closer to her. "I'm glad that you stuck it out for all five years. I can't imagine not having you at the comm." He looked away. "I'd understand if you're ready to be back on solid ground, though. I know being in space was never easy for you."

There was something forlorn in his tone—like a goodbye—and it was a vise around her heart.

"Anyway, I'd better get going." Jon handed her the towel. "Goodnight."

She wanted to tell him that she couldn't imagine seeing him every day either, that of course she was shipping out again with the rest of the crew, but the words were knotted on her tongue. Instead, she dropped the damp towel and stepped up to him. She wrapped her arms around his trim waist and squeezed, resting her head briefly against that very solid pectoral. He returned the gesture, pulling her tight.

After a beat, she glanced up at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and on instinct, she pushed up on her toes, lifted her chin, and pressed her lips to his. She supposed she meant it to be a friendly peck, the kind she'd shared with Trip and Travis over the years, but she lingered a breath too long.

And Jon wasn't responding.

Mortified that she'd crossed that line, she pulled back abruptly. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Jon—Captain, I'm sorry. That was completely inappropriate, and I—"

"I always though it was just me." His words were hardly more than a whisper, hoarse and tinted with shock.

And then his mouth was over hers in a hungry, aggressive kiss. One hand gripped the back of her shirt while the other snaked up to tangle in her hair. She clung to him, meeting his every movement, and it was _electrifying_. He tilted his head, hot breath breath against her cheek before he turned the kiss deep and wet.

She wasn't sure if he'd picked her up or if she had climbed him for a better angle, but they were stumbling toward her bed. She let out a soft laugh when her back hit the mattress. The smile he gave her as he hovered over her—the one that glowed with unveiled affection—made her heart race.

"Is this—" he began, but she cut him off.

"Yes."

He searched her face for a frustrating long beat with those intense green eyes. She could imagine the conflict he was facing. Starfleet didn't have explicit rules about fraternization, but there was an unspoken understanding. He was her commanding officer, but she couldn't muster up a single damn to give in this moment.

She brushed her thumb against his cheek and the soft, sand-papery beginnings of a five-o'clock shadow there. "It's okay, Jon. I want this."

He nodded, internal battle over, and stripped his shirt over his head struggling a bit when the fabric clung to his skin. She didn't laugh, though. She was mesmerized by the sharp lines of his abdomen, the smattering of hair peppered across his chest. Familiar to her, but new now that she could trace her fingers over his tanned skin, travel the roadmap his muscles made with every movement. 

And then he was kissing her again, hands easing beneath her blouse, bringing to life every cell in her body. She looked away as he unbuttoned her top, suddenly self-conscious. This wasn't new territory for her, but it was the first time with him—someone older, more experienced. She knew it was irrational, that he was too good a man to compare her to the others he'd shared a bed with, but anxiety still crackled beneath her skin.

He whispered her name in reverence, a prayer from a humble supplicant, and she risked turning back to him. His gaze was on his fingers, caressing the lace of her bra. "You're so beautiful. You've always been so beautiful."

For a trembling breath, she thought she could love him, if she didn't already.

* * *

She lost track of time as he held her afterward, arm around her waist as she pillowed her head against his chest. He wasn't asleep, his breathing wasn't slow and rhythmic enough, but she was afraid to speak, to shatter this fragile peace. Too soon they would have to answer the question of what this meant for them. A casual one-night stand or something more, something deeper? She didn't want to know. Not yet.

His silence seemed to say that he wasn't ready either, and she found it reassuring. They had time. Nothing was set in stone.

A soft, insistent beep intruded on the stillness, and she sighed. Reality came calling too soon.

"It's probably mine." Jon kissed the top of her head, giving her a brief squeeze before untangling himself from her.

With reluctance, she sat up and pulled the duvet over her, admiring his body as he searched his pants for the device.

He shot her an apologetic look before slipping into the bathroom with his communicator. The low murmur of his voice was muffled by the door, and she didn't attempt to make out what he was saying. It was probably Starfleet, given the late hour, and chances were high that he would need to leave. She hugged her knees, trying not to be disappointed. He was a captain whose first loyalty was to his career. If this was something more than a fling, she would have to decide whether or not she could be content playing role of mistress. Starfleet was his wife.

The bathroom door opened, and she looked up, prepared to tell him that it was fine, that he could go. The words died on her lips, though, when he stared at her with ashen features. It was a look she had only seen once before: when he learned of the Xindi attack on Earth. Her heart stopped.

"I have to go," he said, his voice haunted. "We've been recalled." He began picking up his damp clothes, pulled them on, his movements robotic.

She scrambled out of bed and joined him in getting dressed. "What's happened? What's wrong?" Her hands shook as she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse.

He glanced at her as though truly seeing her for the first time since the call. "The Romulans have destroyed the Atlantis. All hands were lost." He blinked. "We're at war."

The universe turned inside out at his statement. Her concerns over what sex had done to their relationship seemed laughably frivolous in light of this horrendous turn of events.

"I'm coming with you," she said, throwing on her shoes. She wasn't going to let the Enterprise ship out without her comm officer. Her family needed her. Jon didn't protest, and she was glad.

He stopped her at the door. "I'm sorry." He cupped her face and gave her a painfully despondent kiss. "After this is over—"

"I know." She didn't want him to say it, to speak the possibility that they would never have a chance to finish what they had started.

He was Captain Jonathan Archer now—the man who held Earth's fate in his hands again. And Lieutenant Hoshi Sato would do everything in her power to help him succeed.

Later she would rail against the unfairness of it all.

**~FIN~**

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** Thank you for reading! The story continues in the sequel _Verboten_ (as soon as I finish editing it.)


End file.
